My Daddy and I are still in a good place. He’s consistent, communicative, and his presence provides so much of the containment I’ve been looking for. But there’s a new static on the line, a low hum I can’t quite tune out. It’s about race play. He mentioned his interest, and my entire system just went cold.
I expressed my discomfort immediately. I was honest and direct, just as I've been from the start. He listened, and he stopped. He said he understood and that my comfort was paramount. His words were perfect. His actions were exactly what I needed them to be. The issue wasn't the conversation; it was what was left behind.
Just because he doesn't do it doesn't mean he doesn't feel it. The desire is still there, living somewhere in his internal world. And that feeling, that undercurrent of a kink built on racial power dynamics, does not jive with my front porch frequency. My front porch is a sacred space of belonging, a baseline of peace where I can be completely myself. And his interest in race play feels like a fundamental discord. It’s a quiet reminder that the soul beneath the Dom I adore might not be on the same frequency as mine.
I can handle a partner with different kinks. But this is about a core value, a difference that feels like a foundational crack. It’s a quiet truth that my instincts picked up on, and once that signal is in, it's hard to get it out. My containment is not just about what he does to me; it's about a total sense of trust. And right now, my front porch is listening.